


5 Times Lance Got Hit

by Quillium



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: 5+1 Things, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-09-26 20:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20395801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quillium/pseuds/Quillium
Summary: “Let’s say,” Lance says, perched on the edge of the kitchen countertop, “That, theoretically, I rip off Shakespeare.”“I don’t like where this is going,” Hunk says promptly, “Hey, pass me the space salt?”(And one time he didn't.)





	5 Times Lance Got Hit

**Author's Note:**

> I tried my hardest to make this angsty, I swear. Here's your reminder to stay hydrated. If you haven't drank a glass of water in the last half hour, go do that now or else you're not allowed to read this fic.

**i**.

This fight, Lance knows, is a race against time.His stamina isn’t good but Keith’s _is_.

Alright. Back up, he’s a long range fighter, after all, and Keith is close range. Shooting his hand is the best option. The rubber bullet bounces off Keith’s fingers and so does Keith’s bayard, clattering against the floor.

“Got you,” Lance grins.

Keith cocks his head to the side and smiles.

Wait.

Why is he smiling.

Keith’s punch is swift and horrible and Lance is on the ground before he can breath.

“Urgh,” he groans, “I got you.”

“Then I got you. In a real fight, that would mean that _I’d_ win.”

“Semantics,” Lance says, but he grins and pats the floor next to him, “Sit down.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Hup!” Lance swings out his legs and hooks it behind Keith’s ankles. A short tug sends Keith to the ground, yelping before he lands next to Lance. “Hey, handsome.”

Keith adopts a pained look, “Please don’t.”

“Pretty boy.”

“Stop.”

“Cutie.”

“Do you want me to punch you again?”

“With your mouth?”

“I—you—“

Lance laughs and swings up so that he’s sitting up, “Heard our friendly Blade liaison is still trying to recruit you. How’s that going?”

“It’s not,” Keith pokes Lance’s stomach, “Your stamina is atrocious.”

“Thank you, fearless leader.”

“I’m not leader, _Shiro_ is.”

“You were temporary leader after Zarkon’s defeat, though.”

“Only because Shiro went into that coma to be judged if he was ‘worth enough’ or whatever. Now we’re back to normal and life is good.” Keith lays down, “Besides, Killi’s a nice dude but he’s kind of annoying since he won’t give up on trying to recruit me. I’m pretty sure Kolivan doesn’t even care if I join, he just wants to get back at me because of _your_ prank.”

Lance crosses his arms over his chest and pouts. “Switching their delicious space dessert with food goo was a stroke of brilliance and if I recall correctly, _you_ agreed.”

“It was delicious,” Keith adopts a pained expression, “But now Kolivan’s sent Killi after me. He’s like a bloodhound.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Lance says.

“You don’t even care, do you?”

“I do.”

“Really.”

“I think it’s _hilarious_,” Lance grins as Keith swats at him, “Alright, alright. Let’s take a break. Maybe forever.”

“Scared of me beating you?”

“Ha! No. But I promised Hunk to help him with a thingamebobber,” Lance kisses the back of Keith’s hand, “Farewell, dear knight.”

“Stop.”

“Darling saviour.”

“No.”

“Adorable prince.”

Keith buries his face in his hands.

Lance cackles and offers a two fingered wave, “I’ll tell Shiro you still want a spar.”

“Please do,” Keith grumbles, “I need to punch away your terrible nicknames.”

“You love them.”

“No.”

“You love me.”

“Who knows why.”

“Because I’m perfect,” Lance blows a kiss and flounces off.

Keith shakes his head and groans.

**ii**.

“Let’s say,” Lance says, perched on the edge of the kitchen countertop, “That, theoretically, I rip off Shakespeare.”

“I don’t like where this is going,” Hunk says promptly, “Hey, pass me the space salt?”

Lance passes Hunk the bottle of blue gunk, “Okay, it’s just theoretically.”

“You always say that,” Hunk adds two drops into his bubbling cauldron of dinner, “And it’s never just theoretical.”

“I am appalled that you think so poorly of me.”

“Appalled? Or called out?”

“_Rude_.”

“Rude or honest?”

“I did not come here to be insulted, Hunk.”

“No, you came here for common sense,” Hunk sips a spoonful of his soupy mixture, “And common sense is telling you to not rip off Shakespeare.”

“But no aliens have made contact with Earth yet,” Lance protests, “So, let’s say, I write a play that has the same premise and idea and characters as Shakespeare and sell it to an alien publishing company—“

“Do aliens even have books? Is that a thing?”

“Hunk, Hunk, my man, theoretically, there could be an infinite number of species of aliens due to both the potentially infinite nature of the universe and constant evolution, so why _wouldn’t_ at least one species of alien other than humans have books?”

“But are they a widespread thing?”

“Don’t get all sensible on me.”

“I thought that was why we were friends,” Hunk holds a spoon to Lance, “Taste.”

“It’s good. Your food’s always good.”

“I think it could use a bit less flavour.”

“Flavour’s always a good thing.”

“There’s flavour and there’s a tsunami.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“It could be. It isn’t.”

“It tastes good, Hunk.”

“But it could be better.”

Lance rolls his eyes, “Alright, Mr. Perfectionist.”

“Was _I_ the one who made us restart our final presentation for Engineering 101 after discovering that our argument wasn’t as strong as it could have been?”

Lance scrunches up his nose, “We got a good grade, didn’t we?”

“Not the point. _So_ not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“The point is that I’m the pot and you’re the kettle.”

“Mm-kay. Back to my point.”

“What point? You never have a point.”

“My genius plan, Hunk.”

“Your _illegal_ plan, you mean?”

“Were you always this mean to me?”

“It’s not my fault that I’m carrying all the brain cells in this friendship.”

“Offended,” Lance holds out a hand, “Give me another spoon?”

“When it’s done, greedy guts.”

“_So_ offended. Okay, okay, so ripping off Shakespeare is a bad idea—“

“Yes. Yes, on so many levels.”

“—But what about ripping off someone else?”

“_Lance_.”

“Right,” Lance pulls open the utensil drawer and slips out a spoon, “Okay, writing novels—“

“_Plagerizing_ novels—“

“Pick, picky. Fine, so that isn’t my thing. I get that. What about writing comics based on our adventures? The adventures of The Mighty Lance and His Team—“

“You mean Hunk and his Brutes?”

“I like that but I am clearly the star here, keep up.”

“Mmhm, I don’t—hey!” Hunk whacks the back of Lance’s hand with his spoon when he catches Lance sneaking a spoonful of their meal, “Not before it’s done!”

“Stingy.”

“I think you can’t make a comic series.”

“Why not?”

“Because you can’t draw to save your life.”

“I’ll get Keith to draw.”

“Don’t pull Keith into your ridiculous schemes.”

“Why not? He pulls me into _his_ ridiculous schemes. Remember the volcano incident?”

Hunk shudders, “Nope, nope, nothing, because I have wiped that stupidity from my memory and it was all a fever dream. Anyways, just because he’s your boyfriend doesn’t mean you should drag him into your ridiculousness.”

“This isn’t about him being my boyfriend. This is about him being the best artist on the ship.”

“He’ll only agree because he’s your boyfriend.”

“I resent that. You agree to my ridiculous schemes and you’re not my boyfriend.”

“Thankfully.”

“Oi!”

“I’m just saying.”

“Betrayal by my _best friend_—“

“Right, right,” Hunk pours the soup into a few circular molds, “Alright. Go write your comics.”

“I’d like your blessing.”

“Giving any of your ideas my blessing is destined to end in disaster.”

“Why?”

“Because all your ideas are destined to add in disaster.”

“You are cutting down to my heart here, Hunk.”

“So you make the comics. What do you do then?”

“Obviously I abuse my power as a paladin of Voltron to get a publishing house to sell my story. Celebrity books always sell well even if they’re terrible.”

Hunk raises an eyebrow.

“What if I wanted to make a comic book?”

“Do you? Do you genuinely want to make a comic book?”

“…No.”

“What do you want to do, Lance?”

“I want to go flying.”

“And why are you here?”

“Because Shiro said I can’t go flying.”

“And why can’t you go flying?”

Lance mumbles under his breath.

“Lance?”

“Because I convinced Blue to convince Red to let me paint my face on her side.”

“And you say that your ideas don’t end in disaster.”

“You didn’t see Keith’s face. It was _priceless_.”

“I’m not involved in this,” Hunk pops the molds in something that might be a microwave but might also be a freezer, “Go bother Killi.”

“But Killi’s _boring_. He’s a total stick in the mud.”

“Go,” Hunk makes a shooing motion, and then whacks the back of Lance’s hand with another spoon, “And don’t even think of stealing a bite before the food’s ready!”

**iii**.

“Paladin Lance,” Killi says with the long-suffering of someone who is starting to understand how Lance thinks, “Just because Paladin Keith has left his painting supplies out in the open does not mean we need a repeat of your face being painted on Red’s flank.”

“It wasn’t just my face,” Lance protests, “I also gave Red some lovely flowers which she adored.”

“Paladin Lance,” Killi repeats. He sounds tired, “What about looking over battle strategy instead?”

“We _just_ finished an _hour_ of battle strategy planning,” Lance tries to do a handstand, “And stop calling me Paladin Lance! It’s so stiff. Marmoran Killi.”

Killi rolls his eyes up to the ceiling as though to beg for mercy.

“I think,” Lance crashes onto his face and groans, “I think we should paint around the ship some more. It’s so _boring_, after all.”

“The ship has a lovely colour scheme,” Killi says, “I do not think it needs to be altered.”

“_Killi_. Killi, Killi, _Killi_. Come on! A flower or two. What kind of flowers do you like?”

Killi purses his lips together, “It is unimportant, Paladin Lance, as you are not going to paint flowers anywhere on the ship.”

“Oh, of course not. Just asking for curiosity’s sake.”

“Of course, Paladin Lance.”

“You believe me?”

“Of course, Paladin Lance.”

“Great. Then what’s your favourite type of flower?”

“This is unnecessary—“

“The sooner you tell me the sooner I stop bugging you about it.”

Killi makes a weird noise.

“What?”

“My favourite flower is the—“ Killi repeats the weird noise.

“Are you pulling my leg right now?”

“I assure you, Paladin Lance, the—“ he makes the noise again, “Is real. Allow me to pull up a visual.”

The flower is the weirdest combination between those desert skulls that Georgia O’Keeffe liked to paint and a tiger lily.

“Marmoran Killi,” Lance says, “That is a gorgeous flower.”

Killi adopts an expression of faint concern, “Thank you, Paladin Lance.”

“And I think we should let _everyone_ see its beauty.”

“…That is truly unnecessary, Paladin Lance.”

“What do I have to give you to stop calling me that?”

“Call me by my name.”

“Marmoran Killi?”

“Just Killi is fine, Paladin Lance.”

“Fine, Killi. Now call me Lance.”

“Of course, Paladin Lance.”

Lance groans.

The edges of Killi’s lips quirk up in a faint smile, “Perhaps we can look at what Paladin Pidge is doing instead of causing a ruckus.”

“Causing a ruckus? Who even says that anymore? …Ugh, fine, don’t give me that look.”

“Look? I don’t know what look you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb. Okay, okay, let’s go,” Lance skips into the hall, Killi following with a indulgent smile.

“Whatever you’re plotting,” Pidge says as soon as they enter her room, “I want in.”

“I’m not plotting anything,” Lance pouts as he crouches down next to Pidge, “What’s that?”

“Either an alien eReader,” Pidge rearranges a few wires, “Or a bomb. I can’t tell yet. Killi?”

Killi blinks blankly at the circular contraption scattered around Pidge, and says, “It appears to be some form of technology.”

“Thanks, Killi. Real helpful.”

“I—erm—am not a technically savvy person.”

“No kidding. Lance, hand me that tool with the red handle. No—the _red_ handle, that’s orange.”

“That’s orange,” Lance echoes, mockingly.

Pidge hits Lance’s shins with the red handled tool, “Shut up.”

“Ugh, fine. Killi, come sit.”

“It is quite alright, Paladin Lance.”

“Oh my god, Killi, seriously, just—“

**iv**.

Allura’s halfway through her book when the sound of retching distracts her.

The soft murmur of Coran’s voice whispering platitudes comforts her even as she draws closer to the sound, setting a soft green bookmark in place before she goes over.

“What is the matter?” Allura asks, watching as Killi rubs Lance’s back and Coran whispers _it will be okay, it’s okay_.

“Paladin Lance appears sick,” Killi murmurs softly, looking upset as he continues to rub Lance’s back, “I’m not quite sure what the proper procedure is to—to help. What should I—“

“You’re doing great, Marmoran Killi,” Lance says, grinning wearily at Killi before leaning over the toilet bowl and throwing up again,

Killi throws Allura a panicked look and mouthes _help_.

“Should I get anyone else?” Allura asks, “Or maybe some medicine?”

“I’m fine,” Lance says, pressing his face into Coran’s shoulder after wiping his mouth, “I just—need some sleep.”

“I can carry him,” Killi offers, sliding his hands underneath Lance, “You two should get some sleep.”

“Thank you,” Coran says, smoothing a piece of hair from Lance’s forehead.

“No problem,” Killi jerks his chin, nodding at the door.

She’s halfway to her bed when the alarms begin to ring.

__

Lance doesn’t expect a spear through the stomach when the alarms start ringing.

He doesn’t expect Killi’s fingers letting go and letting Lance’s head hit the floor as he murmurs, “It was good fortune that you became ill today, but I’d rather not take too many chances.”

_Allura. Coran_. They can’t be far, he can—

Something blunt against his skull.

Pain.

Nothing.

**v**.

There are hands running through his hair when Lance wakes up, cool and metallic.

“On a scale of one to ten,” Lance groans, leaning into Shiro’s touch, “How bad is everything?”

Pidge punches his arm, “Awful. You got _stabbed_. Idiot.”

“Didn’t mean to,” Lance pouts.

“Things turned out surprisingly well,” Hunk admits, perched by Lance’s feet, “Allura met Killi just as he was leaving the bathroom and decked him. I think she might’ve caved his skull in but she was holding back. Then she subbed in for you and we beat up the Galrans. All in all, pretty easy stuff.”

“Awesome,” Lance grins as he sits up, “Sorry for getting stabbed.”

“Sorry for letting you get stabbed. Keith’s freaking out in the training room.”

Lance winces, “How bad is it?”

“Every time I’ve passed by, he’s been in there, so.”

“I’m in pain,” Lance mutters, dramatically flopping onto Shiro, “Everything hurts, I was throwing up just—Hunk, time?”

“Two days.”

“Ugh. I was throwing up the last time I was conscious, I had a hole in my stomach, I just got out of the pod, and—anything else?”

“Not really. But those are pretty bad.”

“Mm, you’re totally right. _Shiro_. I’m in _pain. And_ my boyfriend’s not even here!”

“What do you want for me to do about that, Lance?”

“For you to get your brother, maybe?”

“Hmm, I don’t know, I don’t see how this benefits _me_—“

“He’s sulking and so am I.”

A quiet laugh, “You make a good point,” and the metal hand leaves him for what feels like an hour and a minute before Keith is punching his arm and grumbling _idiot_.

“Once again,” Lance rolls his eyes, “It’s not _my_ fault that I got stabbed.”

Keith huffs but doesn’t argue. He’s quiet as he cards his fingers through Lance’s hair and Hunk and the others excuse themselves silently.

And Lance isn’t stupid, so he tacks on, “It wasn’t _your_ fault, either.”

“You sure about that?” Keith demands, voice brittle.

Lance takes Keith’s hand and kisses his knuckles, “Yes,” he says, “Absolutely.”

Keith signs and buries his face in the nape of Lance’s neck, “You’re so stupid. I was so—so worried. By the time I got to the bathroom, there was just blood everywhere and you were missing and—“

“I’m fine,” Lance says, quietly. He presses a hand to his stomach and not to feel sick at how smooth his skin is, how it’s almost like nothing every happened. He’s not sure if he’s telling Keith, or himself as he repeats, “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” Keith says.

And it is.

+1

“Alright, losers,” Pidge announces, dumping an armful of blankets onto Lance’s head, “Sleepover time. We’ve had enough angst and drama and now I want cookies.”

“I should get more cookies,” Lance says, muffled, from where he’s squashed beneath the blankets, “I was grievously injured.”

Keith rescues Lance from the blanket pile and kisses his cheek, “Shut up. I’m getting my share of cookies or you’re getting nothing.”

“So mean,” Lance pouts, “After I was _stabbed._”

“It’s been two weeks,” Hunk begins arranging cushions and mattresses on he ground, “It’s too late to keep milking it. Give it up, Lance.”

“This is a tragedy,” Lance flops backwards, “I’m _horrified_.”

“Go be horrified somewhere else,” Hunk makes shooing motions, “I’m setting up the fort.”

“I’ll help,” Shiro picks Lance up by the armpits and drags him away.

“I can’t even take solace in Shiro’s strong, manly grip,” Lance mourns.

Keith throws a pillow at his head.

“I’ll get you for that.”

Shiro keeps dragging Lance, as though he has not _just heard_ Lance’s declaration of revenge and war.

“I will defeat you in this pillow war!”

Shiro, oblivious, continues to ignore Lance’s challenge.

“I will—Shiro, as much as I love this, I’ve got to defeat Keith.”

“Do you?” Shiro’s lips edge up ever so slightly.

“You’re on his side! _Betrayal_,” and Lance is the one to say it but his stomach lurches all the same, sick.

Shiro rolls his eyes, “Somehow, it doesn’t seem quite that severe.”

“It is,” Lance closes his eyes, “Freee me. Pidge! Save me from Shiro’s grip!”

“Oh no,” Pidge says, “You’re too far. It’s impossible. I’d love to help, but it’s just—so—far—“

“Two feet,” Lance says to the ceiling, “_Two feet_.”

“Too far,” Pidge says.

“Hunk!”

“Setting up the fort. Which you should be helping me do?”

“I could, if Shiro hadn’t kidnapped me!”

“Would you, though?”

“I _could_.”

“_Would_ you?”

“I have a war to fight!”

“Mm-hm.”

“I have a challenge declared!”

“Mm-hm.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“Then perish.”

“I walked into that one.”

“Yeah. I’d be okay with you helping set up fort, though.”

“Fine.”

Shiro drops Lance and the two of them help Hunk set up the fort. Halfway through, Hunk leaves with Pidge to get space cookies and hot chocolate, and Keith goes with Allura and Coran to find more bedding.

And Lance has been stabbed in the back (literally) but there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope my giftee enjoyed this and has a lovely day. If you have an Ao3 account, please tell me so I can officially gift this to you.


End file.
